Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  She sounded so pathetically unhappy, Will didn’t dare laugh. Hate her? It was all he could do to keep from ravishing her on the spot. Not, he reminded himself with a flush of guilt, that that meant much. Any man would want to ravish his Emily. But nobody except him ever would. He’d see to it.

  “I could never hate you, Emily, love. You haven’t done anything wrong. You could never do anything wrong.” He gently drew her toward him.

  Her hand feathered a caress down his cheek, and he wished he’d taken the time to shave. His beard was scratchy, and he didn’t want to hurt his Emily’s tender skin.

  “Oh, but, Will, I have wronged you terribly. I pretended to be something I’m not.”

  Swamped by shame, Emily hung her head. Will had to nudge her under the chin to make her look at him. His heart clenched when he saw the misery in her eyes.

  “You’re not Emily von Plotz?” he asked with a little smile.

  Emily blinked at him, confused. “Well, of course, I am.”

  “I see. But you aren’t ‘Aunt Emily’ from the newspaper?”

  Even more confused, Emily could only nod and respond, “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, then, that’s about all you ever said you were. I don’t see how you can say you pretended to be something you’re not.”

  When her exquisite face began to crumple, Will was afraid for a moment she would begin to cry on his leather vest again. It still had a splotch from the last time. He quickly repositioned her so her tears would fall on his shirt.

  With a monumental effort, Emily swallowed her urge to burst into tears. “It’s worse than you think, Will, darling. I—” She choked to a momentary stop, took a deep, sustaining breath, and continued. “—I deliberately set out to entrap you into marriage in order to use your money to rescue my family from financial ruin.”

  The words came out of her mouth with the solemnity of a funeral march. She couldn’t look at him, but clasped her hands together in front of her and directed her gaze at the floor. She felt Will’s soft lips on her neck and shivered with the millions of tiny wild fires his touch ignited within her.

  Will recognized gooseflesh when he saw it and smiled. “And you did a spectacular job of entrapping me, too, love. I’ve never seen anything fall as hard as I fell for you.”

  Emily gasped when she felt his huge warm palm cup her breast. His words didn’t register immediately. When they did, she wasn’t sure she understood exactly what he meant by them.

  “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, love. Just the prettiest thing.”

  When his lips nipped lightly at her earlobe, Emily almost shrieked. She clamped down on the urge with main force.

  “But, Will,” she managed to say, “Don’t you hate me for it?”

  His soft chuckle against the skin of her shoulder where he had pushed her shirt back made her feel weak with desire. She wondered just what kind of fallen hussy she must be to take such incredible pleasure in a man’s touch. Especially one who could never be hers.

  “Hate you for it? Now why on earth do you think I could possibly hate you for doing such a sensible thing, love?”

  “S-sensible?”

  “Absolutely. The most sensible thing in the world.”

  His tongue slid to her neck, and Emily arched against him. “But—but I deceived you wickedly, Will, darling.” The sentence took a long time to get out past many fluttering sighs and gasps.

  “You couldn’t possibly ever do anything wicked, love. Besides, you didn’t deceive me. I already knew.”

  Emily stiffened up like a poker, bumping Will’s chin with her scratchy hat. “You already knew?”

  He rubbed his chin. What was that thing, anyway? “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t want to say anything because I knew it might hurt your feelings, but I could tell you were—were struggling with money problems.”

  “Oh, Will, you don’t need lessons in proper behavior. You should be giving them.”

  Emily cast him such a forlorn look that he had to kiss her. The pleasant activity did much to soothe her troubled expression, but it almost left Will too breathless to explain himself.

  “Believe me, love, it’s nothing you did. It’s that I grew up the same way, trying to use everything five or six times, reweaving the straw in my hats, blacking my shoes with coal dust and water, turning collars, stuffing newspapers into my shoes.” He didn’t add more illicit things to his list such as cheating at cards, selling cigars hand-rolled from cow dung and mud, riding rail cars, eluding the law.

  There was something in his tone of voice that cut Emily to the heart. The very sketchy picture he had painted of his childhood—parentless, poor, and always on the move—tugged at her feelings. Suddenly Emily didn’t feel so sorry for herself anymore; she only hurt for the poor little boy Will Tate must have been.

  “Oh, Will. Oh, Will, my darling, I’m so sorry.” She flung her arms around him and drew his face to hers. Then she kissed him with such determined thoroughness, they were both breathless when she finally let him up for air.

  “So, will you marry me now, Emily? Knowing you didn’t fool me?”

  “Oh, Will! I just can’t believe it. Even though you know what a wicked person I am, you still want to marry me,” Emily gasped.

  “I know it’s hard to understand, love. At least Thomas thinks so, but—well—my Uncle Mel taught me to appreciate a finely crafted fraud. Not,” he hastened to amend, “that I think you’re a fraud, love. You’re you. And I love you.”

  His words were a soothing balm to Emily’s bruised spirits. She drew him to her again for another passionate kiss.

  Emily’s dreamy, “Oh, Will,” drifted into his ears and settled like honey on his soul. Amazing how honey could soften his heart while it hardened his desire to an almost painful state of rigidity.

  He needed no further encouragement to enfold her in strong arms and ravish her lips. As he did so, his hand found her ridiculous cloth cap and tugged it from her head. He was delighted with the fall of hair cascading over his hand.

  “Oh, Lord above, Emily, you’re beautiful.” In a deft move, he picked her up, carried her over to the bed, and plopped her down on it. “You don’t weigh more than a mite, either,” he added when he noticed her bounce up and down, causing a suspender to slide off of one of her delicate shoulders. “Where on earth did you get those clothes?”

  He stood beside the bed, hands on his hips, and relished the sight of his prim little Emily in her knickerbockers and woolen stockings. The devilish look in her pretty blue eyes and the wicked smile on her enchanting mouth only added spice to the picture she made.

  “Do you like them?” she asked with a twinkle.

  “I think I’ll like them better when you take them off.”

  She blushed, then shed her suspenders in one graceful move and began to slowly unbutton her plaid flannel shirt. He felt his mouth get dry even as his palms started to sweat. His trousers soon felt too small to hold his growing excitement.

  “Oh, Lord, Emily, are you sure your aunt won’t interrupt us?”

  “She won’t interrupt us, Will. I made sure of it.”

  Emily swept off her flannel shirt, revealing two perfect ivory breasts. Then she reached for Will’s trouser buttons. That was all he could take standing up, so as soon as she had accomplished that task, he joined her on the bed.

  Their mating was exquisite. Will mapped Emily’s body with his large hands as though he wanted to memorize every tantalizing inch of her. Her knickerbockers and woolen stockings vanished in a trice. She purred like a kitten when his finger finally dipped into her damp treasure.

  “Oh, Will, It’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair?” Will could barely speak.

  “You’re torturing me.”

  “You’re torturing me.”

  “No, I’m not. Here.”

  To his initial dismay, Emily wriggled away from his grasp. When she pressed his shoulders back onto her pillows and he found himself lying on his back, however, hi
s dismay vaporized in an instant. When she began her own tactile survey of his body, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t survive, but he resolved to try. Then she climbed on top of him and lowered herself onto him, and he decided he was already dead and this must be heaven.

  “Oh, Lord, Emily, this is too good. It’s too good.”

  “Nothing’s too good for you, Will.”

  Then she began to nibble on his lower lip as she rocked up and down, up and down, until her own control was overtaken by her spiraling need. She made no protest when Will rolled them over and he was again on top. He made no protest when her teeth found his shoulder at the very moment he felt her rippling contractions beckoning to him like a siren’s song to join her. So he did, with a cry he barely managed to muffle.

  Several minutes later, Will had just enough strength left to take her with him when he rolled to his side. Thus they went to sleep, Will still buried inside her, Emily’s head tucked neatly under his chin.

  It was after noon when they finally woke up. Emily’s eyes were first to open.

  She awoke with a song in her heart and a tuft of Will’s springy chest hair tickling her chin. Very gently, she unwrapped herself from his embrace so she could stretch and greet the marvelous day. She glanced toward the window and realized it was raining outside. How wonderful nature was, she thought, to spare her the trouble of watering her beautiful new rosebush today.

  The hysterical yapping of Gustav and Helga wafted its way to her ears from the back yard. She thanked God for making such sturdy, alert little creatures to keep her aunt and uncle safe from housebreakers. The muted sound of the telephone’s shrill ring came to her through walls and walls from the new office, and she thanked Him for sending Will Tate to rescue her family from the evil clutches of Clarence Pickering.

  The very, very faint sound of an elocution lesson being carried out in the second-best parlor reached Emily’s ears. She thanked her lucky stars for giving her a loving aunt and uncle. What did it matter if they were eccentric? They loved her. Her heart clutched momentarily when she considered the poor little boy Will Tate must have been, with no home and no one to care for him.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Will, darling,” she whispered as she nuzzled his muscular arm. She felt so good, she stretched again, like a cat, languidly, restfully, happily.

  “Keep that up, and you’ll never get me out of this bed,” a deep voice growled near her ear.

  Emily turned to find her beloved’s gaze raking her naked body, and she laughed. It was a happy, delighted laugh, as she considered how wonderful it would be to wake up next to Will for the rest of her life. Oh, how she loved him.

  Will couldn’t just lie there with Emily stretching and flaunting her perfect little body and laughing at him. He grabbed her and wrapped her in his embrace once more.

  “I love you, Emily von Plotz, soon to be Emily Tate, and I’ll never let you go again.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad, Will Tate. I’m so glad.”

  They demonstrated exactly how much they loved each other for another forty-five minutes or so. When Will had finally recovered his composure and his breath, he said, “Well, love, I suppose I’d better get back to Thomas’s and make sure everything’s all right. I’m sure he’s taken care of all traces of Clarence Pickering, but I want to make certain.”

  “I wish you didn’t ever have to leave, Will,” Emily sighed. “But I guess you must. And I just can’t thank you and Mr. Crandall enough. You saved my family from disaster.”

  Will gave her a smacking kiss. “You were doing pretty well on your own, love,” he laughed. “But you’re right. Thomas is my best friend, and I have to go thank him properly. He’ll be my best man at our wedding.”

  A quick survey of the room yielded a dressing gown for Emily. “Here. You probably don’t want to go down and meet your aunt and uncle dressed like a ragamuffin today, sweetness, especially since we’re going to tell them we’re getting married.”

  Speaking of their marriage brought something else to Will’s mind. He paused in the act of putting on his trousers, thereby giving Emily a splendid picture of his many masculine attributes. She smiled her appreciation as she tied the belt to her robe.

  “Where do you want to live, Emily?”

  His question surprised her.

  “Why, I thought we were going to live in Texas.”

  “Only if you want to, Emily. I don’t want to take you away from everything you love just because I like it there. If you want to live here, we can work something out.” The thought of giving up his new mansion near San Antonio didn’t appeal to him much. But Will liked San Francisco well enough, he guessed, to be happy here, as long as Emily was with him.

  “Will, wherever you are, is where I want to be. If you like Texas, I’ll live in Texas. I suppose I can come visit Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Ludwig every so often.”

  Her slightly wistful note did not escape Will’s attention. All at once he had a brilliant idea.

  “Well, hell,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m worried about. Barring Thomas Crandall, I’m the richest man I know. We can have us a home here and a home there. Besides, now that I’m partnered up with your uncle, I’ll have to spend some time here, keeping up with the business. At least, I’d better. Not that I don’t like your Uncle Ludwig, my love, but I think he needs a keeper almost as much as those dogs of his do.”

  He was unprepared for Emily’s enthusiastic approval of his idea. She flung herself at him so hard they both ended up on the bed again. This time, though, Will didn’t succumb to temptation, much to her disappointment.

  “I’m going to go to Thomas’s now, love, or I’ll never get out of here. You get yourself all gussied up, and I’ll be back around five o’clock. We’ll talk to your aunt and uncle then.”

  So Emily floated her way through the afternoon, counting the hours until she would see her Will again.

  Since she had neglected her column the day before, she made up for it today by concentrating very hard on her answers. When she came to one particular letter, she smiled.

  “Dear Aunt Emily: You have been mortal kind to me as I have fumbled around San Francisco. Since I ain’t had no other luck, maybe would you marry me? I think I love you. Love, Texas Lonesome.”

  Her heart sang when she penned her response.

  “My Beloved Texas Lonesome: And, as you know, I love you, too. I shall be the happiest of women when we marry. Love, Aunt Emily.”

  “How funny that he still sends me these silly, wistful letters,” she mused aloud. With a deep sigh, she decided it was just Will’s way. Just his wonderful, romantic way.

  When she felt she had done her duty as Aunt Emily sufficiently, she gathered her correspondence into a tidy stack, ready for the following day when she would take the stack to Mr. Kaplan. Then she skipped down the stairs.

  Gertrude was heavily into communication with the Raja Kinjiput when Emily entered the parlor.

  “Good day, Aunt,” she said brightly.

  Startled, Gertrude uttered a little shriek and covered her crystal ball. “Emily! What are you—I mean—Oh, dear—Don’t scold me again today, dear. I don’t think I could bear another scold.”

  A tear quivered on one of Gertrude’s eyelashes and made Emily feel like the most ungrateful wretch in the world. She flung herself on her knees in front of her aunt, causing Gertrude to flinch.

  “Oh, Aunt Gertrude, please forgive me. I was horrid to you yesterday. I had no business to scold you. I’m so sorry.”

  Gertrude looked doubtful for a moment. “Well, Emily, I suppose you might have had a little cause to be upset with me. I had no idea those dogs of your uncle’s meant so much to you, or I never would have traded them to Mr. Pickering. And Emily,” said her aunt, more sure of her ground and warming up now, “I really do think you owe that poor man an apology. Poor Mr. Pickering. He tries so hard for us.”

  Suddenly Emily remembered why it was she had been so aggravated with her aunt yesterday. Stifling her urge to scream, s
he said, “No, I don’t, Aunt. I don’t owe Clarence Pickering one tiny, teeny-weeny syllable of apology. The man was a horrid criminal, Aunt Gertrude. He was a thief and a forger and a—and a—and a drunk.”

  “Why Emily, dear! What terrible things to say. How on earth can you possibly assert such things about him?”

  Emily realized that her aunt was honestly shocked at her ill-chosen words. She also knew she couldn’t confess how she had come by her first-hand knowledge of Pickering’s villainy. “I know it because Mr. Tate has found out everything about Mr. Pickering, Aunt. And, believe me, Mr. Pickering was a fiend.”

  Gertrude gasped. “A fiend?”

  “A fiend.” Emily’s legs had begun to cramp, so she stood once more. “He was an awful fiend who tried to ruin Uncle Ludwig’s dachshund business and you, too, Aunt Gertrude. But Mr. Tate got rid of him for us. And he got all the papers back for Uncle Ludwig’s business and everything else you’ve ever owed him. You’re debt-free now, Aunt, thanks to Mr. Tate.”

  “Really?”

  From the way her aunt stared at her, Emily was sure Gertrude had no idea how close to disaster she had been. She had been teetering on the very brink of ruin, of losing her home and everything she held dear. But Gertrude, Emily realized, who never liked to think about unpleasant things, had never allowed herself to think about the consequences of her improvidence. In spite of all Emily’s efforts and lectures. Emily sighed heavily, knowing it would be useless to try to make her understand now.

  “Yes, Aunt. Really. But don’t worry about it. Everything is all right again.”

  Gertrude smiled, content once more. “Oh, good, Emily dear. See? I just knew that everything would be all right.”

  With a sad shake of her head, Emily only said, “Yes, Aunt Gertrude.”

  Now that Emily didn’t seem inclined to scold her any longer, Gertrude was much more serene. She patted the sofa next to her.

  “Sit down, Emily darling. Let me tell you what the Raja has been communicating with me.”

  Emily complied. “All right, Aunt Gertrude,” she said with resignation. “Tell me all about the Raja.”